Not Over
by Almost Something
Summary: Cuddy knows it's not over yet. It may never be. No spoilers, a bit of Huddy. Now finished...
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **I should be drawing instead of writing, you know. 'Tis only a break.  
_

_**Disclaimer: **Don't own them. Or.. anyone._

* * *

It's never over.

There's a shadow right behind your front door, and for a second, you freeze. Then, when realization crawls upon you, you chide yourself for being scared of the post man. But it's another sign, one you can't ignore. Not this time.

People around you whisper, sneak suspicious glances at you when they think you're busy pretending to be in charge. You know what they talk about.. how they talk about it. It's hard not to notice. The stares are getting to you, and you feel the distance between your heart and your mind increase with each passing moment. You keep it together, though. Tell yourself how much they worship you and your administrative skills. It's a mantra that's easy to repeat, and even more easier to believe. If you hadn't known just how false it was.

Everybody thinks you're out of your mind.

They shouldn't bother, really – because it's nothing to talk about.

* * *

"Hey, Brenda... you noticed anything strange going on with Cuddy?"

"Did she just shut the door in your face?"

"Has she been sleeping in her office again?"

"She didn't even seem to care when I told her about the blow-up."

"Naw, don't mind her. She's just a little jumpy lately."

"She totally lost it when I pointed out how bad she looked! And she does."

"I swear I saw her in the ladies' restroom the other day, crying."

"Poor girl. That job is really getting on her nerves."

You wince when you hear the last line one afternoon in the clinic. Your job has never been more pleasant, but you actually wish for some kind of issues to pop out from nowhere. Distractions keep you... well, distracted.

Only there aren't any battles to fight lately, not even with House.

You suspect he's just as much gossiping about your state of mind as anybody else, if not spreading the worst rumors himself. But you can't tell for sure because you haven't been able to track him down lately. And Wilson's a poor source since he keeps questioning you.

You tell him to shut the hell up – and he does.

* * *

When you arrive at your office that evening, your Eames is already occupied by a tall figure lazily lounging in it, and for a moment, your heart forgets how to beat. It's only when your hear the crude snicker that your mind finally wraps itself around the thought that there is only one person in the world .. or at least in this hospital.. who would make your chair so obviously shameless his. House.

"I locked this door," you tell him, your voice dangerously low.

"I opened it."

"I bet it was more like 'figured out how to pick it'. House."

"Funbags."

You don't move as he finally rises, but your eyes are firmly locked on the polished floor beneath your feet.

"Leave."

"I will, Lisa."

You look up. It's weird to hear your name fall from his lips so easily, and you can tell he's equally surprised. But then he comes closer and you take a forceful step back, hating the smirk that's quickly forming on the very same lips.

"Stop telling me you're fine and I will."

You can feel his eyes burning into you, deeply searching your soul, and you know you can't lie to him. It's the same magic working on you like all those years ago, and it doesn't fail to make you silently squirm with the unspoken statement.

_I know what happened to you, Lisa._

But for once, it doesn't sound like a threat.

He takes another step towards you, invading your personal space with no intention of scaring you, but he does. Your back is against the wall now and you panic, searching for an escape route and finding none. He sees the light in your eyes change and holds his hands up in an apologizing manner. You calm slightly. He doesn't want to hurt you.

He reaches out, his strong fingers gently encircling your elbows, and you don't resist. You let yourself be drawn to him, basking in the strength and warmth he provides. It's nice to feel save again, even if it's only for a few seconds.

"We'll get through this."

You nod, your face buried deeply in the soft fabric of his shirt.

When the phone rings, you know it's never over.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **Thanks for all your reviews!_

* * *

"Don't think about answering it," he tells you slowly. He deliberately stretches the words out, making you feel 4 instead of 40.

It's not helping, and you tense.

You're _always_ tense.

His arms give you a light, encouraging squeeze, and you try to relax once more. You know it's okay to let your guard down. Your heart keeps ignoring the comfort his embrace offers you though, screaming at you with all its might.

_RUN! _

_Run before it's too late to get away_.

You tip your head up to glance at his face. Your breath nearly catches once more in the back of your throat when you see the emotions, the uncertainty written all over him.

He wants to help you.

You have to let him.

The phones continues ringing dutifully through your inner battle.

"I'm not."

Your short, clipped answer tells him the one thing he had hoped wouldn't occur tonight:

Down-to-business Cuddy is back.

He releases you with a heavy, audible sigh, and you step out of his arms gracefully, determination in your eyes.

He sees it.

And flinches.

"You are not a victim, Lisa."

It's a soft, desperate and yet knowing whisper, and his tone somehow chills you because it reminds you of another time someone whispered to you like that.

_I still wants answers, Lisa. Don't make me wait._

"I'm not."

His eyes narrow.

It's not just a repetition of his words, it's.. a confession.

"Remember the guy you wanted me to interview a while back?"

Upon his nod, you keep going.

"He came back after work, asked me if there was no chance for him to get the job. I felt sorry for him, you know.

"I still don't have his name. God.. I was so damn stupid. Why didn't I just ask for his name? I could.. I could've –"

Then, the tears come.

In an instant, House is next to you again, taking your cold hands and leading you over to the couch. You collapse on it, glad to feel the support of his hands still curled around yours. You can feel your numb fingers shake violently, but the rest of your body shivers also and you don't believe it would make a difference. He hands you a few tissues.

You are glad he's there for you now, too.

"I let him handle most of the paperwork, just signing it afterwards. He did well. Better than I expected," you clarify when House looks at you pointedly.

"Then I locked up everything and told him to go home. I.. I didn't think he'd take that as an invitation."

You laugh bitterly.

"Should've known better. Especially after dealing with _you_ for so long.

"I think he followed me. I remember the way he smiled, all cold and detached, like he was somewhere else when I opened the door for him. I let him in, House. I thought he had forgotten to tell me something.

"When he said he was there to make me regret my choice, I freaked for the first time.

"I.. wasn't exactly scared of him. But he – he had a gun. Pointed it at me, and told me he – he wasn't sure where to shoot me to make it hurt the most.

"I didn't think he'd actually do it."

"Who was he?"

You've been so focused on your story that his input nearly startles you.

"W-what? What do you mean?"

"I said: 'Who was he?'"

"Already told you.. I didn't know his name."

"_Didn't_, Cuddy?"

"Yeah, I.. House?"

"Tell me the truth."

* * *

"_Tell me the truth, Dr. Cuddy.. do you want to die?" _

"_No," you spat out, pointing the gun at his head with steady fingers,_

"_.. but you obviously do." _

_With these words you pull the trigger. You don't watch as his body hits the cold tile floor. You stand up and collect your torn and battered clothes from all over the kitchen, stuffing them into a plastic bag and shoving it into the trash can. Then, you dial 911._

* * *

"So he's dead."

You stumble back to the present once again, taking deep, slow breaths to keep the panic that's threatening to take you over at bay, but it's not working.

You can feel your control slip.

"He's dead," you echo, not meeting his eyes. Not daring to. You don't want to see the question forming there, the disbelieve. The disgust that follows the realization.

But when you feel his fingers gently tugging at your wrist, you look up.

His eyes are still filled with the same unfamiliar warmth as before.

"He _raped _you, Lisa. That bastard deserved anything he got and probably more."

"But I let him."

"No, you didn't. You didn't let yourself be a victim. You are a survivor."

With that, he takes your hands again, pulling you to him like you're an over-sized rag doll, letting you curl up against him, your head resting on his shoulder. But you don't mind. You like just being with him now.

The phone has finally stopped ringing.

_FIN_


End file.
